Sleeping Beauty
by Thobbit
Summary: Destiel fluff. A crazy old witch gets Dean with a sleeping curse, and, well, you know where this is going.


**Sleeping Beauty**

He was floating in darkness. He knew he was floating because he couldn't feel anything beneath him. The darkness was complete, so dark it wasn't even black anymore. There was no menace to it, or feeling of emptiness, there was just nothing there. Smell and taste were out as well, there being nothing for them to work on. He thought he might have heard voices, but they'd faded away, whether because they stopped talking or he stopped listening, he wasn't sure. He didn't really remember. It didn't really matter. He also thought he might be sinking, very slowly, but even that was no worry. It was pretty comfortable here in the dark and the nothingness.

Something brushed against his forehead, bringing a momentary spark of feeling, but his descent didn't slow. Then something touched his lips, warm and gentle. Instinctively, he started kissing back. The other mouth opened in surprise, moving away. He chased after the warmth, resisting the previously unnoticed currents that tried to pull him to the bottom of wherever he was.

Dean opened his eyes and met a pair of dark blue ones, framed by a pale, serious face and slightly messy black hair, hovering some three inches above him.

"Cas?" he asked muzzily.

Sammy's head came into view behind the angel's. "Dean!" he said, sounding relieved. "You're awake! Cas, you're a genius!" His brain seemed catch up with his mouth and he stopped, giving the angel a weird look. "Wait, does that mean you're––"

"It is the duty of angels to love all God's creatures," Cas interrupted smoothly. He stepped back from the bed. Dean felt like he should object to that, though he wasn't sure why.

"But––" continued Sammy, then gave up.

"You should still rest," Cas told Dean gravely. "It may take some time for the curse's effects to wear off completely."

"Okay," said Dean, still not really following things. He didn't even need Cas's fingers on his forehead to fall back to sleep.

He was woken by the sound of a phone ringing. At first, he ignored it. Then he stuffed his head under a pillow. Finally, when the noise didn't stop, he sat up and shouted, "SAMMY! Get the damn phone before I shove it up your ass!"

Sam, asleep in an overstuffed armchair that'd been dragged into the room, jumped about a mile in the air. "What––huh––Dean! You're awake."

"Yeah," Dean groused, "you said that before. Are you going to get the phone?" Just then, it stopped ringing, because the universe sucked like that.

"How do you feel?" asked Sam, still looking worried.

"Fine," said Dean. He tossed off the covers and put his feet on the floor, rubbing his face. "How long was I out?" He was in Bobby's spare bedroom, still in his clothes.

Five days," Sammy replied. "Well, four, but then you slept through the night anyway."

"Five days?" Dean demanded. "I thought––what the hell did that witch do to me?"

"We're not sure," Sam admitted. "Some sort of curse. You wouldn't wake up. Bobby and I tried everything. We even summoned the ghost––I ganked her, but you were already out––but all she would talk about was fairy tales." He hunched his back and spoke in a creaky falsetto, mimicking the crone's ghost. "Not until true love's kiss has passed her lips shall the princess awaken."

"I ain't no princess!" said Dean, outraged.

Sam smirked. "Course not." Dean threw a pillow at his head, which he caught easily.

"Seriously though," he said, tossing the pillow back on the bed. "I think that witch was nuts. Turning people into mice, handing out poison apples... thought she was living in a fairy tale, if you ask me, or trying to make one."

"Uh-huh," answered Dean. He got out of bed and stretched, muscles stiff from lack of use. "So, what, you called Cas?"

"Yeah," replied Sam. He looked suddenly awkward. "He did some angel mojo and woke you up."

"And put me back to bed," said Dean, seeking confirmation. His memory of the last couple days was sort of fuzzy.

Sam nodded. Then Dean's stomach growled loud enough for them both to hear, and he winced. "Hey, you haven't eaten in five days. Want a sandwich?"

"Yes," Dean said emphatically. "And some pie. You better have bought pie."

Sam looked shifty. "I'll go check." He left the room.

"You better not have gotten cake again, Sammy!" Dean called after his brother. "Cake is not pie!"

"I know the difference between cake and pie!" Sam yelled back.

"Doubt it," Dean grumbled to himself. He sat back on the bed, legs still feeling a bit wobbly. For a crazy old lady, that witch sure knew how to pull a blood curse. He would've fought back more, but it's hard to resist being pricked with a needle when you're tied to a chair. Well, thank goodness for Cas, in any case.

He realized he was fingering his lips, and hurriedly pulled his hand away. That part had definitely been a dream, he decided. Crazy ghost rants aside, in the rock-paper-scissors of the universe, angels beat fairy tales, hands down. No princesses required.

"Dean!" hollered Sam. "There's old blueberry pie in the fridge!"

He stood, thinking of a pair of blueberry-blue eyes that had stared at him in concern. "Sounds good!" he shouted back to his brother. "I'm coming!"


End file.
